


Bad

by faggyandy



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Intrusive Thoughts, Mental Illness, OCD, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, chara is fucked up and has serious issues, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 19:53:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11721417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faggyandy/pseuds/faggyandy
Summary: You are bad therefore you need to be punished. You only get what you deserve.





	Bad

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a vent fic to prevent myself from self-harming. I am kin with Chara and most of this comes from personal experience. I headcanon Chara as having OCD and BPD with terrible intrusive thoughts. It sucks ass to be a kid with low self esteem and a crippling mental illness.

You grip the red handle of the knife so hard that your knuckles turn white. The sharp blade is resting on the skin of your thigh because you’re too reluctant to make the first cut. Cuts means blood and blood means mess and scars you need to hide until they are unnoticeable. Cutting is a hassle and there is a reason you don’t do that often, but today you decided to make an exception. It was worth the hassle if just to see yourself bleed and suffer. To feel the sting of your fresh cuts when your jeans rubbed against it as you walked or sat down. It hurt for days but honestly you deserved it. 

You are a bad person. You deserve to suffer. You deserve to get punished. He is mad at you because of what you are. You didn’t mean to call him a sniveling idiot. A pudgy pushover who can’t even walk on grass without being afraid of killing something. You were bored and frustrated and that tends to make you a bit meaner than you usually are. He was busy with schoolwork and you wanted to go outside and play knight and liege, so you tried to get his attention. You pulled his fuzzy ears until he bleated and yanked at the back of his sweater. Then you started your barrage of name calling because that always seemed to work. At some point, you hit a chord, and he screamed at you to stop and called you a miserable bully before walking away crying, leaving you to stew in your own guilt.

You don’t know why you’re like this. You want to stop but before you know it, you do something bad and stupid. You loathe yourself because of it. You are bad therefore you need to be punished. Even your thoughts are bad. You have thoughts of choking him in his sleep as you lay beside him in bed. To beat him until he cries. To stab your mother. To kill your father. To eat a handful of buttercups and wait until you die from the poison. The thoughts are constant and bombarding you if you so much as look at them. So you bite your hands until their pockmarked with tiny scars because pain distracts you from your ugly mind. You hit yourself and hit your head against the wall until your head aches because you just hate yourself so much.

Why are you so bad? You slide the knife across your skin as a line of scarlet bubbles up from the cut you just made in your thigh. You feel a slight release of tension in the tight knots you made in your brain. You cut your thigh even deeper this time though the satisfaction isn’t as great. Each time you cut, you just like seeing yourself bleed. It reminds you that you are real and that you feel pain and suffer. You stop at eight cuts and try to get yourself to stop bleeding. They sting as you wash the blood off your legs with soap and water and when you rub antibiotic cream on it. Your fear of illness and disease outweighs your desire to hurt yourself so you go through the motions of cleaning your wounds. You can still remember the horror stories of staph infections you heard from your mother when she first saw your cuts. Now you are careful because you don’t want your leg cut off. 

Suddenly, there is a knock on the bathroom door and you break into a cold sweat. No one is supposed to be up. You made sure of it. Your parents would flip out if they knew you were cutting again. The place would turn into Alcatraz and you would have to draw with crayons because they’re afraid you might stab yourself with a pencil. You are silent and reach to turn off the light when you hear a soft nervous voice through the door.

“Chara, are you there? I’m worried about you. You didn’t eat dinner and I saw you looking in the knife drawer. Can you unlock the door?” Asriel whispered, his voice oozing with concern and pity. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

You knew he was a big baby. No matter how much you threatened him not to tell your parents, he did it anyway because he “cares about you”. You know you could lie and tell him that you ate something bad and are puking your guts out but that would mean him waking up your mother and you didn’t want to deal with that. 

“I’m fine, Asriel. Go to bed.” You say, trying not sound majorly annoyed. 

“Okay.” He says softly, if not disappointed and unconvinced. You can hear him pad down the hall into your room and close the door. 

You cover your cuts with bandages and flush the bloody tissues down the toilet to get rid of the evidence. You turn off the light and put on your pajama bottoms then sulk back to your room. You climb into bed only to find Asriel awake and waiting. You turn your back to him and lay on your side with arms clutching your stuffed dog that you couldn’t sleep without but loathe to admit you had. You can feel his fuzzy arms wrap around you and snuggle into your back. As much as you hated physical contact, for once you wanted it. You wanted it bad. 

“I love you, Chara.” He said sleepily, nuzzling the back of your head. 

“I love you too.” You murmur, exhaustion tugging at your eyelids.

You are terrible but at least you are loved.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to end it on happy note and also because Chara doesn't deserve it.


End file.
